Backseat of a Greyhound Bus
by Raphi-girl
Summary: She wore a dress with cherries on it, Going somewhere where she'd be wanted. Go listen to the song Backseat of a Greyhound Bus by Sara Evans. ***** is where the song lyrics were. Posted on AO3 under the same title (user Deanie95) Implied Wincest. Fem!Sam.


_*********_

Samantha Winchester feared nothing.

Okay. That was a lie. But only one thing really. It was hard not to be afraid when something was _growing inside of you_.

Sam rubbed a hand gently over the curve of her stomach, tracing that pattern on her dress with chewed, half-painted fingernails.

She was terrified.

Seventeen years old, seven months pregnant, and she'd already thrown away her scholarship letter from Stanford. She couldn't go to school and be a mom. There was no way.

Tears gathered in Sam's eyes, even though she'd stubbornly never let them fall, as she stared out the tinted window. Sam let her hair fall in front of her as she blew out a deep sigh.

If Dean didn't want to talk to her about Stanford, he wouldn't want to even think about this.

 __ _ *********_

Samantha Winchester. Seventeen years old, seven months pregnant.

Between not taking care of herself and being what her brother called a "Sasquatch", she only looked four months.

She wasn't starting motherhood off on the right foot, that was for sure.

Sam looked down with a grunt as she felt a sharp kick in her gut, as if her little hitchhiker was saying "Hey, you. Hi. You're thinking about me. I can tell."

More tears gathered in her eyes and Sam hugged her stomach protectively.

There was a moment, after she'd stopped staring at that stupid plastic stick, that Sam had thought about … getting rid of it. Even if she couldn't sneak out to a clinic, it wasn't like her father and brother didn't have a couple bottles of the good stuff hidden in their duffles.

Hell, they were at Bobby's before she took off. She could have just stolen some hooch. Now that she thought about it, Bobby was probably the one who bought the ticket. He probably called Officer Jody to find her and take her to the bus stop. Bobby probably knew about everything. About her and Dean. About Stanford.

About the baby.

She knew, just knew, that he was the one that had given her an out that she had desperately needed.

Thank God for Uncle Bobby.

 __ _ *********_

Samantha Winchester. Seventeen years old, seven months pregnant.

Oh, and in labor.

It started out as a back cramp. She'd figured it was from the hard seat, it's not like it was a first class bus.

Then she heard a little boy ask his grandmother, "How come that lady pottied in her seat, Nana?"

Going into labor at ass-crack o'clock in the morning, on a public bus, surrounded by complete strangers. This had to be some kind of cruel Karma.

She'd do it all again if she could.

Tears and laughter and with her heart pounding out of her chest, Sam clung to the tiny human she had struggled to bring into the world, relishing the baby screaming louder than a banshee.

 _ *********_

Samantha Winchester feared nothing.

Okay. That was a lie. But it was hard not to be terrified when you were responsible for a child of your own.

It never stopped amazing Sam that she could love someone _this much_.

 ********* __

Bobby Singer came home from a hunt in Omaha, dead on his feet. To make matters worse, there was a thick envelope stuffed in the mail slot on his door. He jerked the offending object out and stomped grumpily into his home.

"Probably a Goddamn bill. Hell, my luck, it's probably a pile of crap Rufus needs researched. Asshole."

The old man threw the package onto the table and went straight to his fridge. Before he left, he'd put his good Jack in the freezer and he wasn't about to open up that damn thing without some self-medicating.

Bobby returned to his old table with the frosted bottle and a shot glass, then set about opening the envelope. When he shook it's contents out onto the table, two photos and a small slip of paper fell out.

The paper was a note with four simple words:

 _Thank You Uncle Bobby_

The first picture was of Sam, standing in front of an old brick building with a sign that read "Stanford Law".

The other photo was the one that brought tears to his eyes. A simple Polaroid picture of a baby on her stomach, hands fisted in a soft pink blanket, with a head full of dark blond hair, grass green eyes, and a toothless little grin. When Bobby turned the photo over and read the words written in white marker, he covered his mouth with a hand.

 _Roberta Mae Winchester  
"Robbie-Mae"  
Named for her Grandfather  
Four pound. Eleven ounces.  
Born at 3:19 am on June 23_ _rd_ _,2003  
In the middle of Highway 19  
On Bus #79_

 _ *********_


End file.
